Journeys of Wonder at the Adventure Center

In October 2010, the Adventure Center: Journeys of Wonder, Inc. (ACJOW, Inc.), located in Riverdale, New York, will celebrate two years of operation as a non-profit educational enrichment organization for children and their families. What makes this so exciting for me personally is that this organization is headed by a woman named Liz who just happens to be married to my brother Ray. Both of them have made the Adventure Center their passion--Liz is the president and executive director of the school and Ray is the program director. The organization offers programs to suit many different tastes--from the Adventures in Nature program that takes children (and interested parents) on exploratory nature tours of the Hudson Valley, to the Joy of Writing program that offers children the chance to learn how to write a play and to perform it if they so desire. The Adventure Center receives programmatic support from the Materials for the Arts, The New York City Department of Cultural Affairs, and The New York City Department of Sanitation, among others.

The road to the realization of the Adventure Center has surely been a journey of wonder, learning and passion for Liz and Ray, but it has not been and is not an easy road. It is a vision that became a reality, but like any other non-profit organization, it relies on donations and grants to keep it afloat. I want it to succeed for them so much, and I wish I was independently wealthy or wealthy enough to invest in the Center without reservation. But I am not. These days, I often think that if I could choose my work life over again, I might think money and personal wealth first when it came to working and saving, and then switch gears in mid-life and use some of that wealth to benefit society. But knowing me, I would probably choose the same way as I did when I was younger if I had another chance. I did choose a career that I knew would allow me to support myself, but not a career that paid big money, like investment banking or law. We were not raised to go after big money in our family, and that brings up other issues. Why wasn’t this emphasized more in our youth? Should it have been emphasized more? Because having money in and of itself is not a bad thing. You can do a lot of good things for the world around you when you have enough money, but not all wealthy people do this. I know a lot of people who don’t have money or don’t have enough money to realize even their small dreams. I know people who have been out of work for several years after having lost their jobs in middle age. It’s a tough world these days and that is what has made me question whether it may be a good thing to emphasize the value of earning a very good living to teenagers on the verge of making important life choices. One should at least be able to support oneself without much worry. But these days it is tough for some people I know to get a job at all, so perhaps the discussion of choosing a lucrative job is a moot point.

My brother is involved in leading the Adventures in Nature program. I think this suits him well since he was an avid fisherman, hiker, and outdoorsman when he was younger. He knew a lot about the different fishing flies necessary to catch different kinds of fish, and he had friends who also enjoyed fishing. I think it was my mother who got him started--she would take him to the Tarrytown lakes as a child to go fishing. He worked in the corporate world for many years before this present endeavor became his daily life, and I venture to say that he does not miss it. His wife has always had a passion for working with and helping children and teenagers in difficult life situations, so it does not surprise me at all that she wanted to start such a center. I am inspired by their choices and the difficulties they face and get through, and I hope that one day in the near future, their journey will lead them to a very good place. If you are interested in supporting their work, please visit their website http://www.adventurecenterjourneysofwonder.org/index.html for more information.

The Art of Boating. Attempts at a definition---by Trond Stokke

From time to time I will post articles and/or poetry written by guest authors on ‘A New Yorker in Oslo’. Today is one of those days. I am pleased to post the following article entitled The Art of Boating--Attempts at a definition, written by my husband Trond Stokke. He is and has been an avid boatman for many years, and we have spent a good many summers cruising the Oslo fjord and exploring the coastlines of Norway. I’ll let Trond tell you more about boating.

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The “art of boating” does not necessarily mean good seamanship or great navigation skills at sea, although these are large parts of the total package. It means more something like “having a good time and feeling good in your boat”. It’s advantageous to have your own boat, or to own one together with a friend, to fully develop this “art”. Lots of people think that it would be nice to be out in a boat on a nice and sunny summer afternoon. However, there is so much more to boating.

First, even in Norway, the season for boating lasts from March to November. If you have a boat with protective plates in the front to protect your hull from being cut in two by the ice (“ishud” or “ice-skin”), there are no restrictions if you want to go fishing in the middle of the winter. Just bring your sweater. Spring provides us with a number of nice and sunny days, excellent for boat trips. In the autumn, when it’s getting darker in the evening, you get to test your night sailing abilities, navigating by using the light houses, and in modern times, also by using a GPS.

Second, to master the “art”, you need to take thorough care of your “beauty”. Yes, your boat is not only a “she”, she’s also a beauty… (Sorry ladies, the boat could in principle be a “he”, but that’s not how it evolved.) If you don’t love your boat, sell it or get a new one! In the spring, you’ll need to sand it, paint it, lacquer it, water it, and put on the bottom paint before it’s afloat. Some years you may need to change planking, or a deck, or something that you didn’t know about till you’d bought the lady. (Most readers have now figured out that I’m the owner of an older wooden boat. However, much of the same goes for more modern glass fiber boats). This work, although sometimes physically tiresome, should not appear to be a bother. If it is, again, sell the boat! 

Third, enjoy being in the boat, whether it’s for repairs, or if you just want to hang around in the harbor. Sometimes you’re alone, and that feels pretty good! (I’ll come back to the fact that you need to be able to maneuver and take trips with your boat alone also.) Other times, some of your good mates will stick around, and often this could lead to get-togethers in one cabin or another, typically accompanied by a beer or an “anchor-drink”. Under such circumstances, you’re going to learn as many different ways of taking care of your boat as there are participants. It is well known that every captain has his own way of doing these things. God forbid that you use Epifanes lacquer instead of Benar, for example! These advices, though, are mostly given by the retired sailors sitting in the shade of the winter storage area in the spring before you put the boat on the water. If they don’t wear black captain’s caps and have long grey beards, forget about it… Seriously, you ought to figure out your own way eventually, or you will be entirely confused. For those of us who do not own a house with access to a garden or a sunny balcony, being in the boat is a great substitute even if you never leave the harbor. Likewise, if you don’t have a cottage at the seaside, your boat may serve this purpose, especially if it’s about 25 feet or larger and has berths. There’s nothing like waking up to the sound of the waves hitting the hull.

Last, but not least, the art of boating is about how you master your boat at sea. This may look easy and relaxed when the skipper is experienced, but don’t get fooled! Behind every good and efficient move at sea, there are several disasters. The saying goes that there are two kinds of captains: the ones who’ve been on the rock, and the ones who will run their ship on the rock. I’ll use docking as the first example of “the art of boating” when you’re actually at sea. The skills required will of course be slightly different whether you have a sailboat or a motor boat. However, coming onto the pier will not be very different, although some tough guys in sailboats will lower the sail exactly at the right time when they take the final swing to align the boat correctly. Then the boat slides in to a perfect halt and the skipper can just fasten the ropes by leaning over the side of the boat. Since I have a motor boat, I’ll not be in the position to impress all the spectators in this way. (Yes, there are always a lot of people watching you when you’re docking. The more difficult, the more people will be around! Women get impressed if it works fine, men will verbally notify you if it goes wrong. In the latter case, your wife will also suddenly disappear and can later be found hiding in the cabin). However, what all of us need to do is to prepare beforehand. Fenders out, ropes ready and fastened on the boat, and clear roles for the crew. And remember that there is one captain on board, and his word is law. All such maneuvers are even more important to prepare for and master if you’re alone. That’s exactly why you need to train on your own. Docking is a small, but important part of boating. Most of us have seen, or experienced, lousy work at this stage. It’s simply embarrassing to need several attempts to reach land, and even more so if you have to give up.

An update on my blog from the Nyack News & Views in New York State

My blog post 'A Tale of Two Rivers', published on July 17th of this year, has been written about in the online Nyack News & Views. Their short article is entitled 'As Others See Us: From Hudson to Herring' and can be found at the following link http://www.nyacknewsandviews.com/2010/07/aosu_hudson_herring/.

I was very pleased and excited to see this, as I really enjoyed writing this particular post. 

Synchronicities and interconnections

I am always pleasantly surprised by the synchronicities of life--the small but meaningful coincidences that never seem to be quite random. I often wonder if they actually occur more often than they do, just that I have not always been aware of them. Recently, my friend Gisele had been telling me about a book that she liked very much and how that book had inspired her. The author had also recently given a lecture on creativity and writing and Gisele had sent me the YouTube link to the lecture for me to listen to. I enjoyed listening to the lecture very much and was fascinated by what the author had to say. When I was in NY last week, my friend Bernadette told me that she has also heard the lecture and liked it very much, and that she is friends with the author of this best-selling book. It is a book that can change lives--one of those personal inspirational tales that get under your skin because you can relate to what is going on in the author’s life. Other friends reminded me that Bernadette had mentioned this to us last year when we met for lunch, but for some reason it did not register with me at that time. Or perhaps I simply did not hear her tell us this since we were several at the table and we were all talking. I have been working with Bernadette for nearly a year now and we have connected in a way that has changed my life. The synchronicities of these events are not lost on me. I would venture to say that there is a plan at work here, but I do not really know its outcome, just that working with Bernadette has taken me down a new road that I am enjoying being on. New travels and new adventures--such is the stuff of which life is made. It is the randomness of the twists and turns--shall I turn here or there, and why we turn down some paths but not others--that fascinate me and have always fascinated me.

Bernadette is a friend from my high school days. We knew each other in high school but were not close friends at that time. We re-connected in the spring of 2009 at our thirty-fifth high school reunion, and stayed in touch after that. But it is only when we began to work together this past October that we began to talk and learn about each other and what we have been doing these past thirty-five years. She is an inspiration in her own right, having lived a life up until now that is quite interesting and unconventional. She has the gift of being a great teacher of meditation and personal life change, and the consulting work I have been doing for her has much to do with emphasizing how one can change one’s life in order to promote one’s wellbeing and good health. I believe so strongly in this message of personal change, because I see how changing my diet and my approach to how to live life have impacted positively on me just within this past year. So the consulting work I have been doing for Bernadette (mostly online health-related research and some writing) is more like a labor of love than anything else--I enjoy it immensely and have learned so much from doing it. The positive energy generated at our high school reunion led to so many positive outcomes and new roads. I also reconnected with my high school English teacher Brendan at the same reunion; it is he who supported my writing endeavors in high school and who still urges me to write. He has also been writing (a play and a novel) in the intervening years since we last saw each other--he is an inspiration to me in so many ways. It is the interconnectedness of all the different events of the past year that have shown me once more that I must stay open to life, to change, to growth, to traveling down new roads, despite the psychological pain and down times involved in changing my life and my direction. Once upon a time I thought that there was only one career road open to me, and now I know that this is not the case. Once upon a time I also thought that I was only a career woman, that my work defined who I was. I know now that this too is not the case. I feel free now in a way that I never felt before and that is the direct result of the interconnectedness of the events of this past year. Perhaps this is God working in my life, and if so I am very grateful. 

I Love New York--there really is no place like it

Summertime in New York state—the Empire state. “I love New York” as the slogan goes—“there is no place like it”. It’s true, although I guess as a native New Yorker I’m just a bit biased. I’ve been back in my home state since last Friday. It is always nice to come back and be together with family and friends. And I am struck more and more by how beautiful upstate New York is—so green and lush, so many trees and rolling hills and mountains. It is not crowded like the metropolitan area. Of course it does not have the majority of jobs available either and that may be one of the reasons parts of upstate NY are so sparsely populated. But life goes on up there at a different pace—slower, freer in some ways, I don’t know. It feels good to look out over the vast tracts of unpopulated land. The past few days have been quite humid, with some thunderstorms, but they passed quickly and today, Tuesday, is a beautiful warm day. Gisele and I drove through and around Tarrytown yesterday and it is so interesting to see how the town has changed—Phelps Memorial hospital has expanded considerably with so many new buildings, there are numerous new co-op complexes along the Hudson River (sky-high prices), but they are lovely—historical architecture and colors, manicured gardens and just a general overall feeling of elegance. Of course this has happened in Norway too during the past twenty years. When I first moved to Oslo certain areas were shabby and old. Now Oslo is prosperous and you see that reflected in the large building projects, the lovely new buildings, stadiums, ski jumps and so much more. The same has happened to the towns along the Hudson River—many of them have spruced up their waterfronts and they look so much nicer than they did when I was growing up. But nevertheless, there is that ‘lived-in’ feeling in so many of the buildings I see—apartment buildings, shops, restaurants, hotels—you know they’ve been there a while.  But when I lived here I paid attention in a different way, or you might say I did not really pay attention to what was happening around me. The gradual changes are not what you recognize when you live in a place. You have to go away and come back in order to see the changes. I see them now.  

The Long Way Around

Sometimes it feels as though there is nothing to write about, almost as though one’s brain has been emptied of all possible ideas. But I sit down anyway and begin to write and sometimes the words and ideas just start to flow. I write best late at night—when the distractions of the day have disappeared. I wonder what it must be like to write for a living, to know that one is wholly dependent upon oneself—upon the whims of creativity and inspiration that appear at the strangest of times and which can disappear at the most inopportune of times. It cannot be easy to be a writer. I don’t know if I consider myself one (yet)—I write poetry and have been doing so for years, but have always been hesitant to call myself a writer or a poet because I did not do it for a living. Writing full-time for a living seems to impart a certain credibility—you are not considered to be just a dabbler. But after many years I realize that I am a writer or at least that I want to spend the rest of my life writing. I am happy when I write now in a way that I cannot be in any other work endeavor. I have been a research scientist for over twenty years but in all likelihood I was also a closet writer. I have enjoyed performing scientific research, gathering data, analyzing data and writing articles. I still enjoy reading, editing and evaluating the work of other scientists as well as mentoring students. But I do not enjoy the politics of academia and I cannot find my niche in the academic ivory tower. A friend of mine recently commented on this—she felt that at heart that I really didn’t want an office in the ivory tower. I think she is right. I don’t want to be shut in away from the reality of the world around me. I don’t really fit in the academic realm no matter how hard I’ve tried and I remain on the outside looking in, which is fine with me now. I understand how to be a researcher but I don’t understand how to be a politician or an administrator, and the latter two will serve you well in the upper realms of academia. Or perhaps this is not quite accurate; it’s taken me too long to learn to understand the requirements of academic politics.

The turmoil of the past year in my work environment has forced me to re-evaluate what I want from the rest of my work life. I know I want more than I have now. I need a new challenge to sink my teeth into. There are other considerations as well— colleagues who are ill or close to retirement, lack of grant support, lack of students, slashed budgets, malaise, poor leadership, lack of organizational strategy and focus (the result of a major merger?), and other issues. But perhaps most importantly, I don’t ‘see’ the new research path that I should follow, I don’t know what is best for me anymore, I am in a quandary and I have never been in a quandary before in the thirty years I’ve worked in science. I should probably apply for new grants and for new students, but I have no idea what to write a grant about or what project I should focus on or how much money I should apply for. I have no five-year plan, I can barely see past this coming December. I know I need to prepare an opposition for a doctoral student who will defend his work in November—I will be the second opponent and I can see myself doing that. But beyond that, I don’t know. It scares me but it also exhilarates me because I see the potential for a real life change.  

The creative side of my life outside of work however is in full swing. I will be publishing a collection of my poems written during the past twenty-five years that will be available for purchase on Amazon.com during the early autumn. The collection is entitled ‘Parables and Voices’. I have been posting some of the poems from this collection on my blog at the suggestion of my good friend Brendan who is a writer and a playwright (and a blogger in his own right). It has been a good suggestion because I have gotten some interesting and encouraging feedback from friends who never knew I wrote poetry and who like the poems. They are surprised when I tell them I am the poet. I am surprised sometimes that I am the poet, and am perhaps even more surprised that I am finally ready to share my poems with the world. It has taken more than half of my life to get here—the long way around.

Resurrection

I will tell you

What it was like

To rise, like the phoenix

From the ashes of the still-smoldering embers,

Of the house that I was born in.

What I cannot tell you

Is how that house came to be,

That birthed the plagues it did

From one generation to the next.

Only that sorrow was twin to despair

That etched themselves onto the faces of the living.

I moved from that house

To one built in hell.

Walls lined with pain and hate

Of my soul which longed to rise

Above it all and soar

High, like the phoenix.

Almost twenty years have come and gone,

My house is built now

On firmer ground, the walls and rooms

Have known and know love still.

And yet the images of those earlier houses remain,

The memories raw and naked, still etched with pain. 

from 'Parables and Voices'

copyright Paula M. De Angelis

A New York Summer State of Mind

Back to work today after four wonderful weeks of vacation, and it wasn’t as tough as I had expected. But of course that’s because I know that on Friday I will be on vacation again for another week, this time in New York. ‘A New Yorker in Oslo’ will be ‘A New Yorker in New York’ again for a week, visiting friends and family. I look forward to my annual trips to NY each year, and usually plan them for the middle to end of August so that I can experience a bit of the NY summer—hot, humid, and sometimes tough to take. But it’s a real long summer and it’s what I remember from growing up there. Once I land at Newark airport and step outside, it’s like being hit by a blast of hot air. But I like feeling the heat outdoors and then walking into an air-conditioned supermarket or clothing store and nearly freezing, or lying in bed and feeling the air from the ceiling fan at my friend Jean’s house blowing down on me. I like opening the door to a car that has been baking in the heat and having to air out the car to cool it down. I like the smell of sun-baked asphalt and tar—it reminds me of the boardwalk smell at Rye Beach at Playland from our childhood days. I need my dose of warmth but I also like that feeling of needing some relief from the heat. It doesn’t feel like summer if you cannot complain at least once that it’s too hot. My mother would sometimes complain, and then she would bring out watermelon, sherbet, lemonade or her homemade iced tea (nothing beat it) and we would relax and forget about the heat, at least for a while. The heat would often make us seek relief at the beaches. I can still remember long summer days together with Jean at Jones Beach or Sherwood Island when we were younger, working on our tans, listening to the radio and reading our fashion magazines. When it got to be too warm on the beach, we ran into the ocean—the water was warm but still refreshing. When we were children we often made our way to Kingsland Point Park on the Hudson River, or joined neighbors for trips to Lake Welch or Sherwood Island or Rye Beach. Now I often visit Gisele whose apartment terrace overlooks the beach, and we sit out there watching the people on the beach, sipping cold drinks and enjoying good conversation.

Now that I no longer work in NYC and no longer have to use subways or buses to get to work, I enjoy being a tourist and walking around the city in the summertime. I prefer to walk rather than take the subways or buses. The subways in NYC always seemed to smell worse in the summertime than during the rest of the year as I remember. It’s been a few years since I’ve ridden a subway during the summer, so I don’t know if that has changed or not. I do remember a few times being on a subway train where the windows were shut tight and the air conditioning was supposed to be on but it wasn’t, and it didn’t take long for the cars to heat up and tempers to flare. Someone always ended up opening the doors between the cars and standing in them to hold them open. The stream of cool subway tunnel air that flowed through the cars then was like a gift from heaven even though the screeching of the train wheels and the iron smell accompanied it. It was a trying experience to deal with claustrophobic subway cars and buses where the windows were tightly shut. I never managed that too well and would get off (fight my way off) a subway train or bus at the next stop if it was too unbearable. Asking the bus driver to put the air conditioning on always elicited the same response—it was on and please do not open the windows. We opened them anyway if we could, just to get real air. I don’t miss this aspect of NYC summers at all.

Summer storms in Tarrytown where I grew up were always intense but short-lived as I remember, with a lot of lightning and thunder and torrential rains. Sometimes there was flooding. Afterwards the storms had seldom cooled everything down, but they were fascinating and scary to experience, especially at night with all the lightning flashing about. We always took care to get indoors so as not to be struck by lightning. That was always impressed upon us by parents and teachers—how to deal with lightning storms and what to do in different situations. Oslo has not had many intense lightning storms in the twenty years I’ve lived here, but the past few years have seen an increase in their frequency. Experiencing such storms when we have been out on our boat on the Oslo fjord—with torrential rain, strong winds and high waves—is a scary experience and one I prefer to avoid. We have been lucky the two times it has happened—getting back to port or finding shelter just in time before the storm hit. That is the best way to describe it—it just hits and lashes everything in its path.

I am looking forward to my dose of New York summer—the warmth of being together with family and friends, the summer weather--all the experiences that contribute to the making of memories that keep one warm during the winter months.

Norway through the eyes of others

Today is a beautiful sunny day in Oslo, just like yesterday. Real summer days that give you that lazy feeling of summer, those days that are necessary for the heart and mind and soul if one is to survive the long gray winters. This past week Haika was in town—my very good friend from my Memorial Sloan-Kettering days in Manhattan—and we had a wonderful week together. She arrived last Sunday evening and left on Friday morning. Haika came to Oslo from Berlin, and brought the good weather with her. I was afraid she would take it with her when she left, because it rained heavily all day Friday. But thankfully no, the weekend has been beautiful! We managed to see quite a bit of Oslo together this past week, and spent all day Tuesday doing the ‘Norway in a Nutshell’ trip. As Haika would say, it was a fabulous trip, and it was fabulous to see her too after so many years. The last time I saw her was in England during the mid 1990s when her husband was doing a sabbatical at a college right outside of London and I visited them there. Here we are, so many years later. The passage of time—how quickly it happens.

When I look back over my twenty years here, I feel blessed to have opened our house to many different visitors from the USA, family and friends alike: my sister Renata and her husband (several times); my good friends Gisele, Jean, Maria, Jola, and Haika; my cousin Cathy; my friends Lucy, Steve and their son Andrew; and my friend Janet’s niece Sonja. They come from different areas in the USA—upstate NY, metropolitan NY, Long Island, West Virginia, Michigan, Colorado, and California. I have learned a lot along the way. For one thing, I’ve relearned that Norway is expensive when I see it through others’ eyes! I stopped dividing the total kroner amount by 6 (roughly the amount of kroner to one USD) a long time ago. It made grocery shopping a lot easier and helped me hang on to my sanity. Early on, when I was still calculating the cost of things in dollars, it would floor me that I was paying nine dollars (about fifty-four kroner) for a grilled chicken, fifteen dollars (ninety kroner) for a small pizza, not to mention fifteen dollars for a cocktail or ten dollars for a beer. When I wanted a turkey to celebrate Thanksgiving, a frozen one could easily cost sixty to seventy dollars in the supermarket back in the early 1990s. Needless to say, it made a huge dent in our meager scientist budgets at that time. Even though we earn more now, it can still be daunting to take a trip to an upscale supermarket. But ok, I’ve lived here for twenty years now, so I’m used to it. I forget that when friends come here, they go into a mild shock initially before they adjust. My current advice in terms of figuring out a travel budget for Norway is to think about what you might normally spend on such a trip and double the amount, just to be on the safe side.

The ‘Norway in a Nutshell’ trip (http://www.norwaynutshell.com/en/explore-the-fjords/norway-in-a-nutshell/) is expensive but well-worth the money in terms of the scenic views and fjord experience. We boarded the 6:30 am train at the Oslo Central Station that took us to Myrdal, about a five-hour train ride. This is the second time I have done this trip. The first time was when Gisele visited in 1995. We have some pretty funny memories of that train ride. Just about every time she was about to take a picture through the train window of some scenic view, we entered a tunnel. After it happened a few times we were laughing hysterically. It was very funny to watch the same thing happen to Haika and to a group of senior citizens traveling together. The latter were also laughing hysterically for the same reason. God knows if they got any pictures at all. Haika got a few but it wasn’t easy. In the summer of 1995, when Gisele and I reached Myrdal, we stepped off the train into close-to-freezing temperatures, completely underdressed for the weather. It was not cold in Oslo, but it was cold in Myrdal! There were a few people on the train before we got off who commented on our lack of warm clothing—looking back I think they must have thought—typical tourists (or typical New Yorkers?). It reminded me of stories I had heard about my former boss in NY when he was visiting Italy and walked over part of the Alps wearing a thin leather jacket and leather shoes. People remember things like that. So with Haika, I remembered my earlier experience with Gisele and we were prepared, but this time it wasn’t cold at all. Once we got to Myrdal, we took a connecting train to Flåm, which is about an hour’s train ride from Myrdal. This is a beautiful train ride with lovely scenic views on both sides of the train. The only problem is all the tourists rushing from one side of the train to the other to get pictures. Not an easy task. My NY ‘get a seat on the subway’ instinct came to good use—I managed to get us both window seats. Once we reached Flåm, we boarded a boat for our trip along the fjord ending at Gudvangen, which took about two hours. It was not really possible to take a photo that truly captured the beauty of the fjord and of the landscape along it, and the same goes for the scenic views from the bus that took us to Voss where we got the train back to Oslo. Luckily I was not aware beforehand that the bus would be driving down a road (from Stålheim) that barely had space for the bus let alone an oncoming car. If we had backed up at any point I think we would have been in trouble. Add to that thirteen major hairpin curves and you end up thanking God that the bus driver knew what he was doing and had nerves of steel. Every time there was a scenic view people moved from one side of the bus to the other and I thought—no, no, please stay in the middle of the bus so we don’t tip over. But we made it to Voss in one piece and with some lovely photos as our reward.

On the train trip back to Oslo, we met a family from the USA traveling together—an elderly woman of 85 and her four sons with their respective families. The trip was their family visit to Norway to see where the woman’s family came from, as her maiden name was the Norwegian name Hellerud. They were a very interesting family; we spent time talking to her (a former professor of Spanish) and her son who was a craftsman. They were as interested in our lives as we were in hearing about theirs. It struck me that every time I travel by train, I meet some interesting people, and time passes quickly in conversation. That is also one of the things about traveling that I enjoy—the world is still an undiscovered place and the strangers in it can become known if one just listens and takes a chance. Haika commented on another thing that we noticed about a few people who sat on the train with all the wonderful scenery outside and instead played video games or watched a movie on their laptops—what they were missing in terms of new experiences and in terms of opening their eyes and really seeing the land they live in or are visiting as well as the people around them. I am glad that Haika and I had our eyes open for the days we were together. Memories are made of such.

Movie Nights

When we were teenagers, Friday and Saturday nights were often our movie nights. We would make our way to the Music Hall on Main Street in Tarrytown or to the Strand Theater on Beekman Avenue in North Tarrytown (now Sleepy Hollow). Both theaters catered to the horror movie crowd, and there was no dearth of horror films available for our viewing pleasure when we were growing up. The interesting thing was that the Music Hall showed a lot of foreign horror films, something that I have reflected on in later years because it was quite unusual. The films that come to mind are the Italian horror films directed by Dario Argento, with titles like ‘The Bird with the Crystal Plumage’ (from 1970) and ‘Four Flies on Grey Velvet’ (from 1971). They made quite an impression on an impressionable teenager. I was reminded of them recently because I happened to watch another of Argento’s films, ‘Tenebre (Unsane)’ on TV the other night, which was quite violent, and it struck me how violent the murders in the earlier films were, already at that time (the early 1970s), albeit done in typical Argento style. We also watched a lot of the Christopher Lee vampire horror films from the 1970s as well as a number of psychological horror films like ‘A Child’s Play’ (1972) and ‘You’ll Like My Mother’ (1972) with Richard Thomas of later Waltons fame. My sister might say that I dragged her rather unwillingly to some of them, which I probably did. And even though ‘Death Wish’ (from 1974) with Charles Bronson was not a horror film, it should actually be classified as such considering the subject matter. We had to sneak into the Music Hall to see the R-rated Alfred Hitchcock film ‘Frenzy’ (from 1972) since we were still underage. No one stopped us or caught us. There were many other types of films that we went to see besides horror. I remember keeping a list of the movies I had seen starting around the time I was thirteen and since it was not unusual for us to see about four movies a month, by the time I was nineteen I think I had seen several hundred movies. Going to the movies was part of our social life—we met friends and went to the movies, dated and went to the movies, and even now, I still meet friends for an occasional movie night. But I will often go to see a movie alone—I enjoy sitting in the theater with other people and experiencing the movie together.

The Music Hall and Strand theaters eventually closed for business as cinemas and were replaced by more modern multiplex cinemas in Yonkers and Ossining that we made good use of as we moved into our twenties and thirties. The new cinemas sold huge boxes of popcorn and giant-size candy packages, the theaters were huge and the sound systems were loud. We continued to see all kinds of films, from horror to romantic comedies to war films to costume dramas. We liked them all and still do, although our movie nights now are more geared toward romantic comedies rather than horror—we like to laugh and keep it light. Reality is tough enough sometimes and the violence around us is real enough without having to see it brutally re-enacted on screen in living HD color. But every now and then, I still enjoy being scared, even if I have to cover my eyes with my hands during the scary or violent parts. This was definitely the case a few years ago when I went to see ‘The Grudge’ (the American version from 2004) with a friend. Both of us had problems sleeping for a few days afterwards. Other people have seen the film and it did not have the same effect on them—who knows why it bothered us the way it did—but it definitely had something to do with the facial distortions and the sudden appearances of the female ghost and her creepy son who would silently rise up from the floor along the side of the bed.

When I first moved to Oslo, it was still possible to see many films at the older and grander theaters like Gimle and Soria Moria in addition to the cinemas that showed multiple films. Soria Moria is closed now, but Gimle is still in business. Modernized multiplex theaters dominate now. The theaters here have always shown the most popular American films so it has never been a problem to keep up with the new films. They do not dub films here as they do in other European countries except for the young children’s films, and even those are offered in two versions, the dubbed version and the original version.

Scandinavian films tend to be dark, melancholy, and a bit depressing, at least the ones I saw when I first moved to Norway, influenced no doubt by the dark winters, the coldness, grayness and long summer nights. My opinion of Finnish films (at least the ones I saw in the early 1990s) was that they were just plain crazy, with binge drinking, nudity, sex and sometimes violent behavior, and they often lacked a coherent storyline. Danish and Norwegian films from the 1980s and 1990s often dealt with drugs, addiction, prostitution and other depressing themes. Some of them were good, most of them were forgettable. Danish films that I enjoyed were ‘Pelle the Conqueror’ from 1987 and ‘Smilla’s Sense of Snow’ from 1997—both were directed by Bille August. Sweden had the internationally famous film-maker Ingmar Bergman who made such classic films as ‘Fanny and Alexander’, ‘Cries and Whispers’, and ‘Hour of the Wolf’. The late 1990s saw the re-emergence of Norwegian romantic comedies, some of them quite touching and funny; some of the comedies from the 1950s and 1960s were very funny as well. One of the best Norwegian comedy films I have seen is a film called ‘Mannen som ikke kunne le’ (The Man Who Could Not Laugh with Rolf Wesenlund from 1968)—you cannot watch it without thinking of Monty Python—it has that absurd humor that makes it stand out. Many of the recent Norwegian horror films are quite scary—‘Fritt Vilt’ (Cold Prey—a psycho slasher film from 2006) and ‘Død Snø’ (Dead Snow—a film about Nazi zombies from 2009) come to mind. But one of the best Norwegian psychological horror/thriller films is from 1958, called ‘De dødes tjern’ (Lake of the Dead or Lake of the Damned). I saw it on TV when I first moved to Norway and it was a ‘skummel’ (creepy) film about a group of people that spend their holiday at a cabin in the forest that holds many dark secrets, and how they deal with the disappearance of one of them.

As long as movies keep being made, I’ll always find my way to the cinema for my movie nights—American, Italian, Scandinavian, French, British, Spanish and many other international films. I will always prefer the cinema experience to the DVD/TV experience, but I must admit that it is good to have the opportunity to watch films I missed for some reason when they were first released.

From 'Sicko' to Socialized Medicine

I watched Michael Moore’s movie ‘Sicko’ recently on TV. I had not seen it when it was in the theaters. It was an interesting movie to watch—a typical Moore movie with him shuffling about everywhere in pursuit of his targets. In this case he was interested in specific health insurance cases in the USA that had turned into fiascos for the patients involved. Some of the patients were 9/11 volunteers and firemen, and of course that gets to you right away. Here they served their country willingly in a time of need, and the greedy insurance companies deny their claims for treatment. He made a lot of good points in the movie, and showed (as best he could) how healthcare functions in other countries, for example Canada, France, England and Cuba. He did not visit Scandinavia or other countries in southern Europe. It is one of those movies that should be watched and discussed by students in high school and college. I learned quite a bit that I never knew before, for example, that it was Nixon and his cabinet that were interested initially in setting up what eventually became HMOs like Kaiser Permanente in California, medical care for profit. I also was surprised to find out that France had unbelievably good healthcare (and other social) benefits, probably the best in Europe.

I know a number of people in the USA at present who are struggling to make ends meet. Most of them are self-employed and health insurance is not a top priority, even though some of them have health issues like high blood pressure and cardiovascular problems. Some of them have children. One of them claims to have gotten his high blood pressure under control by changing his diet and eating more healthily, and I hope that is the case, because he is not going to the doctor to have his cholesterol levels measured or blood pressure levels checked because visits to the doctor and lab tests cost money. It is possible now to check your own blood pressure at home with a little monitor that is sold (at least here in Norway) in the pharmacies. It costs around 100 dollars and is well-worth the investment; I purchased one several years ago. If it is possible one day to measure my own cholesterol levels by pricking my finger to draw a little blood for a test kit, I’ll do that too. I’ll do anything to keep me out of doctors’ offices. I have finally realized the value of preventive medicine—taking care of oneself, eating a good diet, exercising, and not overdoing stress. The problems arise when genetics kick in—when your family history of cardiovascular disease or glaucoma or diabetes rears its ugly head and demands attention. What do you do then? You cannot ignore the problem, and diet by itself may control but not cure the problem. Then treatment with drugs or surgery may be required at some point. At that point, it might be nice to know that your eventual operation will be covered by your health insurance so that your illness does not bankrupt you. Such considerations are not problematic in Norway generally. For example, if I need an operation, the cost is covered due to socialized medicine. That is a relief. If I visit my doctor for a regular checkup, buy prescription drugs or have some lab testing done, I may have to pay out of my own pocket until I reach the deductible which is set by the government (about 300 to 400 US dollars for 2010). Once I reach the deductible, I get what is called a ‘frikort’ (free card) where the government then pays any future costs for that calendar year. But the prices I have to pay before I reach my deductible are not outrageous, at least not in my opinion. The last time I visited my ‘fastlege’ (primary care physician or regular GP) I paid her about 30 dollars for a 15-20 minute consultation. I don’t know what it costs these days in the USA to visit your regular GP. Dental visits and visits to the optometrist or eye doctor are not covered by socialized medicine generally except in some specific cases. Dental care costs about half of what it costs in the USA but prices are slowly increasing. Eyeglasses and contact lenses cost about the same as what one would pay in the States. A visit to the optometrist who does a routine eye exam costs about 50 dollars. Eyeglasses of course can cost a fortune depending upon whether or not you need special lenses or if you want the latest designer eyeglass frames from Versace.

I have not had much need of the healthcare system in Norway in the twenty years I’ve lived here. The most serious problem I have had was a major slipped disc that almost led to surgery some years ago. Luckily I escaped the operation. But then I saw another side of the public healthcare system, and that was a bit more disconcerting. I had to wait quite a long time to get an appointment to see my regular GP, so that had I waited the time they wanted me to wait, I would have recovered by that time (I had in fact recovered by that time). I was not considered sick enough to be admitted to the emergency room at the local hospital, so I ended up paying a physician who worked in a private healthcare facility (yes, there is private healthcare here too) to see me immediately so that he could schedule the necessary tests to confirm that I had a lower back prolapse and to give me the prescription for pain medication that I needed. The private facilities cost much more money than the public healthcare facilities. The advantage with them is that you can make an appointment to see a specialist without a referral from the primary care physician. That is terrific in my book. It is just irritating to be in pain and to have to see your regular GP first whose only role is to give you permission to see a specialist. My thoughts on this are—if I know I have back pain, then I can call the specialist myself and make an appointment. I don’t need a middle-man or middle-woman. So that is one advantage of private healthcare. The other is that you don’t have to wait very long to see the doctor as you might have to do in the public healthcare system. If you pay an annual membership fee of about 225 dollars, you can get treatment at a private healthcare facility at discounted prices (compared to non-members) and in some cases this is well-worth the money because it saves time and aggravation. But of course critics of the private facilities have a point when they say that these facilities are undermining the public healthcare system. Many of the doctors choose to work in the private rather than the public facilities because they can earn more money. But generally I would say that public healthcare and socialized medicine function fairly well in Norway, despite that it can take a while to see your doctor and/or to get a referral to see a specialist. The major problem at present is that healthcare costs are soaring here just like they are in the USA, and we already pay high enough taxes (25% sales tax; taxes on gasoline and alcohol) to cover the costs of socialized medicine. It will not be possible to offer each patient individualized care without it decimating the public healthcare system. This is the same discussion that is going on in the USA at present, except that it is the health insurance companies who are trying to deny claims and cut costs. Their motive may be profit, whereas here the motive is to prevent costs from spiraling out of control. It is not a problem that has many obvious solutions, because the population is living longer and illnesses such as cancer (with costly treatments and testing) will therefore be more prevalent.

When I worked at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center in New York, I had very good medical coverage as I recall. I needed an operation while I worked there and ended up (luckily) paying only a fraction of the total cost. Doctor’s visits were cheap, and prescriptions cost me 5 dollars a month. When my husband and I worked at UCSF in California in 1993, we were part of the Kaiser Permanente system of medical coverage. We have only good things to say about their coverage and we never had a problem with them denying our claims. They also offered very good dental and eye care coverage. But we were not their most frequent users and I have no idea what it would have been like had either of us needed treatment for a chronic illness or the like. That is the key point—that healthcare coverage becomes tricky when the health problems become more complex and difficult. Therefore it does not seem fair to me that if you lucked out by working for a company that gives you great coverage at minimal cost to you, that this will guarantee you treatment while if you are self-employed, you are not guaranteed the same treatment unless you pay through the nose for it. Both parties work hard, work long hours, strive to meet deadlines and goals, and stress is a part of the workdays of both. The health problems that arise for both parties may be exactly the same but the end result in terms of treatment and coverage (or lack of treatment and coverage) may be quite disparate. This is the best argument for general healthcare coverage for all, in my opinion. But general healthcare coverage will not preclude the eventual and necessary discussions that are coming/have arrived for most westernized countries—how to tackle the soaring medical costs in all segments of the population—a major problem for the coming years.

The Meaning of Life

A Facebook friend posted the question—what is the meaning of life—on his wall this past week, wondering about life’s meaning now that he has reached middle-age and started the ‘downhill’ process as he puts it. It was a serious question even though he got some funny non-serious answers as well as a few serious ones. Whether or not one believes in God or in a Universal Spirit, at one point or another in our lives, we are faced with this question--what is the meaning of our unique life on this earth? The question may arise especially during times of personal illness or the illnesses and deaths of loved ones, when the point of life seems futile if death is all that awaits us. We all have or have had days (even weeks) when most of what we do and feel seems so futile and meaningless—jobs that have become routine, daily lives likewise. Life may seem empty of meaning. Even the saints had their struggles with emptiness and feelings of futility so faith in God is no guarantee that life will feel meaningful at all times. It’s a question that cannot really be answered—there is no one right answer that applies to everyone. The only thing we can do is attempt to answer it for ourselves and how we answer it reveals a lot about our personal beliefs and uniqueness. I believe that we were put on this earth to be happy, not in a superficial sense, but in the sense of fulfilling our talents and gifts to the best of our ability, without damaging others or ourselves in the process. The meaning of life may be found in the journey toward that fulfillment. The journey may involve becoming a parent or spouse and focusing on family, or a writer or businessman or teacher or a combination of all those things. And if we manage to live up to our potential then it seems reasonable to me that one might want to help another person or persons along their own paths where needed. For me it is the journey that provides meaning in life because it usually takes a good portion of one’s life to get where one wants to go—to reach one’s goal or goals. So the journey and a lifetime go hand in hand. There has to be a goal, however small, that keeps us going each day-- that gets us out of bed and out the door into the world, happy to be alive, happy to live in the present, happy for another day to make something of ourselves that has little to do with monetary worth. Awareness of our own mortality becomes more pointed as we grow older and helps us live in the present, thankful for the day we have in our hands. For me now it feels like a sense of urgency—not to waste the precious time I have each day.

In this context, it seems a shame to waste too much of a life’s time in front of the TV set. And yet we do at times and that may be the result of an unbalanced daily life. For example, we may work too many long hours at times, become exhausted and not have the energy for much else except to come home, eat a quick dinner and lie on the couch watching TV for the rest of the evening. I’ve done it during different times of my life like so many others. But I find that I cannot watch TV in large doses anymore now that I have reached middle-age. I get restless. The passivity gets to me and makes me frustrated. I want to DO something—be an active participant in my own life. So now I ‘choose' what I want to watch on TV instead of just swapping aimlessly from one channel to the next. It feels better to do it that way—that way I can watch a film (like when I go to the cinema) and still have time to do something else, like write, read, or talk to my spouse or a good friend. Small things, but they give my life meaning. I don’t know if I should be doing more. I didn’t feel as though I could handle more some years ago, but that was because my work was all-consuming. Now it is not as consuming, so now there is more time for other things. New roads have appeared on the horizon, and they are enticing roads because they are unknown and mysterious and may eventually be part of my journey for all I know. But I believe that some of the meaning of life is that what was once mysterious and impenetrable eventually becomes familiar and known to us—revealed to us in stages when we are ready for the revelations.

Norwegian Summer Meals

July is usually vacation month in Norway. Most people take their vacation at that time, traveling to their summer cottages or abroad. Life slows down a lot, Oslo is much quieter and not so crowded with cars and traffic, and all of it is a welcome change from the rest of the year. We are enjoying a “stay-cation” this year, to borrow a word from a young Norwegian woman whom we had the pleasure of conversing with this past Saturday evening at her parent’s summer party. We are not traveling anywhere during the month of July. We are instead enjoying some quiet time at home, sleeping in a bit later, enjoying leisurely breakfasts, shopping, watching Tour de France, biking long trips or biking down to our boat, and taking some boat trips in the nice weather. It’s been a relaxing summer so far. And with free time comes the desire to try out new recipes and to make some traditional Norwegian summer meals. I love buying new cookbooks and this summer has been no exception—I’ve purchased a world recipe book on baking—from dinners to desserts. I have a list of new recipes I want to try. But the two recipes I’m including here are not from this book. The first is fried mackerel, a general meal that most Norwegians prepare at one time or another during the summer months, and the second is cucumber soup (Norwegian-style) from Magnar Kirknes’ Kokkeskolen (Cooking School) section in the VG newspaper from June 2010. Neither of them is very complicated to make and they come out well each time.

I. The first recipe is Fried Mackerel served with cucumber vinegar salad and boiled potatoes

1-2 mackerel fillets per person, cleaned and well-dried
flour, salt, pepper
oil for frying
4-6 oz. sour cream

Coat the mackerel fillets in flour, salt and pepper. Fry the mackerel in oil until golden brown and add 4-6 oz. sour cream just before serving. The cucumber salad is prepared as follows: peel one medium-sized cucumber and slice it into wafer-thin slices with the slicer section of a grater. Place in a small bowl and cover with white vinegar (7% strength), add 1 tsp. sugar and mix. Prepare several hours ahead of time and refrigerate. Serves 3-4 people.



II. The second recipe is Cucumber Soup with Crayfish Tails

1 large cucumber, peeled
½ yellow onion
1 green pepper
1 green chili
1 green apple
1 garlic clove
1 tbs. sherry vinegar
1 bunch dill, chopped (save a little to mix with crayfish tails)
1 bunch parsley, chopped
4 oz. olive oil
2 cups chicken bouillon (should be hot)
5-6 oz. crème fraiche (18%)
7 oz. crayfish tails rolled in chopped dill

Cut the peeled cucumber in half lengthwise and remove the soft centers with a spoon. Chop up the pepper, chili and apple coarsely after removing the seeds from each of them. Chop the onion and garlic also. Place all ingredients in a bowl along with the chopped dill and parsley. Cover with the olive oil, sherry vinegar, and sprinkle with a little salt and pepper. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 2 hours. Then place all ingredients in a food processor, add the hot chicken bouillon and process until completely mixed. Add the crème fraiche and mix until the consistency is soup-like. Add a little sugar, salt, and pepper to taste. While the soup is cooling, mix the crayfish tails with finely-chopped dill and divide into about four portions in soup bowls. Pour the cooled cucumber soup over the crayfish tails and add a little crème fraiche (in stripes) to the surface of the soup. Serve with buttered toasted Italian or French bread.

Enjoy!

A Tale of Two Rivers

There are two rivers that have wound their way into my mind and heart over the years---the first is the Hudson River in New York State where I grew up and the other is the Akerselva in Oslo Norway where I live now. Both are beautiful rivers that wind their way through city, town and countryside alike. The Hudson River, over 300 miles long, starts in upstate New York at Lake Tear of the Clouds in the Adirondack Mountains and ends in the Upper New York Bay, which is the New York harbor area between New York City and New Jersey. The river narrows at some points, other times widening so that you could believe it was more like the narrow part of an ocean than a river. The Akerselva river flows through the city of Oslo, having started its journey at Maridalsvannet in the forest area north of Oslo. It empties into the Oslo fjord. Compared to the Hudson River, it is not a long river at all, only about five miles long.

The town I grew up in, Tarrytown, is one of the small towns located on the Hudson River. The Tappan Zee Bridge crosses the river at this point, connecting Tarrytown with Nyack at one of the widest parts of the river. The bridge is a landmark like the George Washington Bridge. On a clear day, you can see the George Washington Bridge and the New York City skyline from the Tappan Zee Bridge. The river has been known to freeze in the wintertime, although it does not do so each year. I can remember my father talking about this happening when he was a child (he grew up in Tarrytown) and how the townspeople could walk all the way across the river to Nyack if they wanted to. I remember when I was around sixteen or seventeen, the river partially froze that winter and I was able to take some really nice pictures of it. It was amazing to see how the ice was pushed up in some places like small icebergs. I don’t remember it freezing much after that. There was always a lot of activity on the river—barges, tugboats, pleasure boats, cruise ferries to Bear Mountain and West Point—all on their way to upstate NY or back to Manhattan. I remember as a child being out in a very small motorboat together with my uncle and my family; it was not a pleasant experience because the boat was too small, we had to sit completely still, and none of us had life vests on even though they were probably there in the boat. Looking back on it, it seems so foolhardy to have done that. Yet knowing my stubborn uncle, he probably insisted to the point where my parents gave in rather unwillingly. It never happened again. During the summertime when we were children, my mother would take us and some friends to Kingsland Point Park on the river, where we would make a day of it swimming, picnicking and lying on the beach to get a tan. It was also interesting to watch the male lifeguards flirt with the teenager girls and I always wondered what became of some of those people. Did those summer flirts lead to romance and a future together? As we and our friends got older, we hung out at Rockwood Hall State Park on the Hudson River, which was the former estate of William Rockefeller given to NY State by the Rockefeller family. Part of the local folklore would have it that it was haunted in places by the spirits of the Indians who used to live there. I can remember being there with my sister and a good friend early one evening, walking around, and suddenly experiencing the feeling that there was something else there with us—an electricity in the air, a feeling, a coldness. We did not hang around there very long after that. It was an odd experience because we all felt it at the same time, and we had not been talking about spirits or any such thing when it happened. In the autumn, if you looked across the river, the Hudson Palisades were always there in the distance. They were not real mountains, rather more like steep cliffs falling down to the water, but in the autumn the leaves on the hundreds of trees on the cliffs would turn beautiful colors, so it was incredible to look across the river and see that foliage. When I come back to NY now, usually during the summer months, I often stay with my friend Jean who lives upstate. For the past four or five years now, we have been attending the Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival in Garrison, which is held on the Boscobel Estate (http://www.boscobel.org/main.html), also overlooking the Hudson River. It is a fantastic experience to sit in the audience tent and watch the actors and actresses run about on the sweeping estate lawns, making their entrances and exits. The plays usually start when it is still light out, but then darkness descends, and the stage lights illuminating the tent come on, giving the place an eerie-like glow that is usually quite in keeping with the tone of the play at that time, whether it be comedy or tragedy. In other towns along the Hudson, such as Irvington, Dobbs Ferry, Hastings, and Riverdale, to name a few, the waterfronts have been developed so that there are now lots of different restaurants and shops to visit. It was not like this when we were children. The waterfronts were often shabby, old, dotted with factories (with many broken windows), garbage areas, small marinas, rundown buildings and weary-looking men hanging about them—in short, they were not very appealing places to walk around in or look at. I remember taking the train from Tarrytown to Manhattan when I went to school there, and it was always interesting and sometimes disconcerting to look out the windows at the life along the river. The town waterfronts look very different now, all changed, and mostly for the better in my opinion. Of course it is now almost impossible to afford an apartment in the newly-built complexes on the river, so this is the flip side of the coin of improvement and development. When I am back in NY, I still enjoy taking the train ride from Manhattan to Tarrytown or Irvington—it is a beautiful ride that always makes me feel like I am coming home. If you want a book that presents the Hudson River in all its glory during all the seasons, I recommend The Hudson River: From the Tear of the Clouds to Manhattan (http://www.amazon.com/Hudson-River-Tear-Clouds-Manhattan/dp/1580931723) by Jake Rajs. Some of his photography is breathtaking.

The Akerselva river is not a long river as I mentioned earlier. Nonetheless, it weaves and winds its way through some lovely scenery and areas of Oslo. It is a people-friendly river, with bicycle and pedestrian paths that allow one to follow it all the way up to Maridalvannet and all the way down to the fjord. If you walk north along the river, you will come to Nydalen, which is a complex of apartment buildings, shops and businesses that blend in nicely with the river and its small waterfalls. I often think how nice it would be to work for one of those companies that have buildings there—one could sit out along the river and eat lunch during the summertime. The Nydalen subway station boasts an escalator ride down to or up from the train platform that will enchant you—the escalator ride, called the Tunnel of Light, envelopes you in a rainbow of colors that change and glide into each other accompanied by a kind of mood music that creates a truly memorable experience (http://performative.wordpress.com/2007/01/21/tunnel-of-light-nydalen-metro-station-oslo/). There are many people picnicking in the parks along the river in the summertime. If you walk south along the river, you will pass some idyllic spots perfect for taking pictures. You will also come upon a part of the river where salmon and trout swim upstream—we have stood from the bridge and watched them flopping about and trying to swim up the waterfalls. We don’t really know how far up the river they actually manage to swim. The city of Oslo has used some money to renovate formerly rundown areas along the river, and these now are populated by restaurants and galleries and coffee shops—again a change for the better in my opinion. I have taken numerous photos of the Akerselva river during all four seasons and I never tire of photographing it. I always seem to find new idyllic areas that I have not photographed before. The Akerselva river has now become a part of my life in much the same way as the Hudson River—captivating me with its beauty, hidden spots, bird life and constancy.

Birdwatching

Sometimes I wake up early, around 5 am or so, and I can hear the seagulls crying in the distance. They are actually not so far away. They live along the Akerselva river, which is the river that divides Oslo east and Oslo west. Our apartment is about a five-minute walk from the river. The gulls did not live along the river earlier, but I think like most creatures, they have discovered that humans leave food about and that is the great magnet that draws them into the city. There is more food about now because there are quite a lot of newly-built apartment complexes along the river. If I close my eyes and listen to the gulls, I could imagine that I was out in a boat on the ocean, listening to them as they fly overhead. It is odd to think that they have invaded the city. I admire them, like I admire most birds. They adapt. They disappear for some years and then return when conditions are more favorable. God knows where they have gone to in the meantime. This year Oslo has seagulls, magpies, doves, pigeons and sparrows in abundance, and they are all flying about, calling to one another and looking for food to feed their families. I love watching and listening to them. Our apartment has small balconies that can be used in the case of fire, but not for much else. However, the birds love sitting there, and if we throw bread crumbs out, they are there within minutes. It has been interesting to watch the pecking order so to speak—the sparrows must wait their turn while the pigeons feast, but when the magpies arrive, the pigeons move down a rung on the ladder. The magpies rule. They are cool birds. We have watched them annoy the local neighborhood cats—pulling on their tails—and the cats take the abuse. It is seldom that we have seen a cat turn and attack a magpie. The magpies strut and hop about, calling to each other. It is interesting to listen to them ‘talk’ to each other. They shriek. The doves also call to each other, but they do not shriek like the magpies. The magpies have nested in the tree outside our bedroom window. If you are a light sleeper, you may find them a bit irritating. I am a light sleeper at times, but I do not find them irritating at all. I am glad for their presence in the city—glad for the presence of all the birds.

The pigeons are the tamest of all the city birds—they will take a piece of bread from your fingers if you offer it, and this seems to characterize them no matter where you are in the world (Trafalgar Square in London comes to mind—although feeding the pigeons there is a part of a bygone era). They are also the birds I think might one day attempt a foray into our living room. Three of them sat on the ledge outside our open living room window tonight and peered in. They are funny to watch in the wintertime—they stand outside the kitchen window ‘waiting’ for food, and a few of them have actually tapped on the glass. It is endearing. This reminds me of the swans and the Canadian geese that swim right up to our boat when we are out on the Oslo fjord in the hope of obtaining some food, which they usually get. Both of these types of birds hiss, and at times the swans have actually ‘bitten’ the boat in an effort to get our attention or to get even more food. Swans are beautiful birds. When we traveled up and down the Telemark Canal some years ago with our boat, there were many swans at nearly all the local wharfs we stopped at. When we vacationed on the island of Strømtangen some years ago, which has an old house connected to a lighthouse, we would awake in the morning to a number of swallows that sat on the edge of our bedroom window. They simply sat there and watched us as we slept. They would also fly about, swooping up and down, almost like bats, but did not fly into the room. They were also pretty amazing birds. We are not very good at identifying all of the different birds around us, so the purchase of a Norwegian bird book is in order. We’ve been talking about it for a while and hopefully we’ll get around to doing so this summer.